


Case 122: The Adventure Of The Maiden Aunt (1895)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [156]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Caring, Cock Rings, Destiel - Freeform, Detectives, Dildos, Doctors & Physicians, Engineering, F/M, Gay Sex, Impersonation, Inheritance, Johnlock - Freeform, Lawyers, London, M/M, Teasing, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 13:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Following on from Wisteria Lodge, another case in which the love of money proves as the Good Book so rightly says to be the root of all evil.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aely/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

Of the thousands of letters which poured into 221B Baker Street during my time there with John, many asked questions appertaining to our cases both published and unpublished. One such was the occasional reader who would ask one or both of us as to which of the unpublished cases we felt the most regret over having not seen the light of day. This curious little encounter that could have had quite serious repercussions but ended almost in farce was my choice, and only the fact that a relative of one of those involved would have been mortified had the whole story come out saved their criminal kin from social humiliation as well as the financial ruin that they fully deserved. It was a curious echo of our last case as both involved greed driving someone that step too far - and again, also some unusual clothing.

To answer another question, I did let John burn the horrendous pink shirt that I had worn in the last adventure – but not before I had fucked him wearing that and nothing else! Out with a bang, so to speak!

֍

January of 'Ninety-Five was to become a busy month for myself and John, for we had barely returned from Wembley (and celebrated our success!) when our next case arrived in the form of a Mr. Cain Burridge. He was a young fellow in his early twenties, blond and well-presented but clearly very anxious. John bade him sit down and I looked at him curiously.

“If this matter is so urgent”, I said, “why did you walk all the way from Charing Cross rather than taking a cab?”

He stared at me in shock.

“How did you know I came from there, sir?” he asked. “Yes, I came in from Hither Green and did indeed consider doing just that, but given the whole horrible mess I decided that I would rather walk across the city to give myself time to gather my thoughts.”

“It can surely have nothing to do with such an estimable institution as your employers the South Eastern Railway Company”, I said, “despite their poor reputation of recent years.”

John most sensibly handed him a drink which he quickly downed before looking at me most warily. I smiled comfortingly.

“Although they do not insist on their staff members wearing their uniform outside working hours”, I said, “they do not object to them so doing. And even if they are fortunately not so vulgar as to brand such clothing with their own insignia or coat of arms like some companies that I could mention, the trousers are always supplied in such a way as to be able to easily be taken up or down according to the size of the employee. Your trousers have clearly been taken down somewhat and the clothes manufacturer they employ makes the insides of their garment a unique shade of blue.”

(John sniggered when I mentioned taking trousers down. He really did have a terrible schoolboy sense of humour at times. I would make him pay for that later, no matter how much he would enjoy it!).

“It is like this, sir”, our visitor said mercifully unaware if the happy passing loop into which my train of thought had strayed. “I have an aunt and she is becoming.... something of an embarrassment.”

I stared at him in surprise. I had had all sorts of strange starts to my many cases but this was something new.

“You wish me to stop your aunt from being an embarrassment?” I asked. John was staring at our guest as if he too could not quite believe what was being said. Our visitor blushed.

“I am afraid it is worse than that”, he said looking guiltily at me. “It is all about barley-sugar.”

Well at least he had my attention. I _loved_ barley-sugar!

“Go on”, I said patiently.

“I really am terrible at this sort of thing!” our visitor sighed. “My great-grandfather was Mr. James Thompson.”

Presumably there was some sort of obvious connection between an embarrassing aunt, my favourite confectionery and that gentleman whoever he may have been or was, and I was supposed to work it out. I wondered briefly if I had crossed into a parallel universe without noticing it. Fortunately John came to my assistance.

“The valve man?” he asked.

I looked across at him and he smiled. He was so beautiful when he.... no, not when we had a client with us. Later, definitely. Though it really was _so_ satisfying when his eyes widened with terror like that!

“Sir James Thompson's company fabricated the first truly effective safety-valves for railway locomotives”, he explained, blushing slightly because he knew..... let us just say that he _knew_. “He made a fortune and was knighted for his work in refitting and making so many locomotives safer.† And for preventing so many journeys from ending with a bang!”

As I said, terrible humour. It was almost as if he was hoping I would punish him for it later. Which he probably was from that smile!

“Sir James was as I said my great-grandfather”, our visitor explained mercifully unaware that my train of thought was now in a most pleasant switchback. “He had three sons and they provided him with four grandsons and two grand-daughters. However none of the grandsons married and the last of them, my uncle Sir Peter Thompson died last year.”

“So you are the heir?” John asked. He shook his head.

“Sir Peter's two sisters were my aunt Andrea and my late mother”, he said. “There was quite an age-gap between my aunt, who is in her sixties, and my mother who married late in life before having me. I cannot inherit the title as that died out with Sir Peter, but the money is being held in trust and an income paid out to Aunt Andrea. She lives not that far from me, although not far enough I might add.”

We both looked at him inquiringly. 

“She is _terrible!”_ he shuddered. “We all know the image of the Victorian maiden aunt; multiply that by a factor of at least one thousand and you have Aunt Andrea! She has never married and frankly I am not the least bit surprised. She seems determined to devote her remaining years in this world to making the lives of everyone she can find as unpleasant as possible! And given what she is like, I cannot exactly imagine the Good Lord in anything approaching a hurry to have him join her any time soon.”

I thought for a moment. 

“And you are next in line after her?” I asked.

“That is again difficult”, he said. “My great-grandfather arranged that once his immediate children and grandchildren – including my terrible aunt – had passed, then the estate would be divided among the next generation. I have worked out that I and my brothers would each be entitled to one-ninth of it which is still a sizeable sum, but in no way is worth having my aunt within a hundred miles. And most unfairly both my brothers moved to the North when they married and our cousins the other heirs all live away from the capital so they are spared her Presence!”

“Where does the barley-sugar come into this?” I asked, hoping that I might persuade him to bring some in. As evidence, of course.

“Until Sir Peter's death last year my aunt lived across London”, he said. “I understand that there was something wrong with her house and rather than repair it she sold it for building land and descended on Hither Green; she has been complaining her way through the place ever since. I do not wish to sound flippant but I can seriously see someone murdering her just for the peace and quiet, as the police would find themselves with a very long list of suspects!”

“It was just after she came here that the barley-sugar thing happened. I have a particular liking for the apple-flavoured variety although it is hard to get these days. Once when I was but a boy I had been taken to visit Aunt Andrea; I remember because never had I been so glad to leave a house! I naturally had to pay a courtesy call on her when she moved into my area, and she was as terrible as I remembered, and for that matter still is. Except that when I was leaving she said that there was a jar of barley-sugar on the sideboard and that she remembered how much I liked it so I might take it.”

Again we both looked at him.

“It was ordinary barley-sugar”, he said. “I just found that.... odd. I mean, why would she remember the _sweet_ but not the _flavour?”_

I thought for some moments on the matter. I could see one possibility that I did not like at all and might well render our client much the poorer.

“Does this fearsome relative have a lawyer?” I asked at last. 

“I am afraid that she does”, he said, sounding almost apologetic. “An utterly loathsome example of a loathsome species, a Mr. Jacques Tapper. Jacques, not Jack which I found odd as he has no French ancestry and apparently changed his name but then he is a most unpleasant creature.”

“Can you describe him to me?” I asked. “Physically.”

Mr. Burridge looked surprised at that but nodded.

“About forty years of age, dark-haired, slim, dapper and far too full of himself”, he said. “It is he who always goes round to inform whoever my aunt has decided to upset next just what they have done to offend her. Most likely just sharing the same damn planet!”

John sniggered at that.

“And your aunt?” I said. “Not that I wish to meet her if it can be avoided.”

“I can understand that”, he said. “I am probably being a little rude in the comparison but if you have read 'Great Expectations' by Mr. Charles Dickens she is Miss Haversham to a tee. That time I had to call on her she really was in a dark room with cobwebs everywhere, just like the illustrations in that book. She was wearing some sort of mourning-dress which I thought odd, although perhaps it was for the effect she always has on people!”

“This looks to be a most curious case”, I said. “We shall most definitely take it; there are several lines of inquiry that can be pursued immediately.”

“You think the matter urgent?” Mr. Burridge asked, surprised.

“Pressing rather than urgent”, I said. “That reminds me; I presume that your aunt does not know that you have approached us in this matter?”

“I have not talked to her since that last meeting”, he said. “Nor would I wish to if it can be avoided!”

“I can understand that”, I said. “There is one more thing before you go, sir.”

“What is that?” he asked.

I took a card and wrote an address on it.

“A sweet-shop not far from here in Hector Lane”, he said. “We solved a case there not long back, and I am happy to tell you that _they_ stock apple-flavoured barley-sugars.”

“Unless a certain consulting detective has bought them all!” John snarked.

I looked pointedly at him. Our guest was about to leave and there was no call for that kind of remark. He visibly gulped.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

It was later that same day and we were having dinner. I should have been mulling over the case at hand but I hoped that the telegram I had dispatched to Sergeant Baldur earlier might yield results by tomorrow. I smiled across the table at John who looked at me piteously.

Having our largest dildo inside him and our newest cock-ring denying him release may just possibly have been a small factor in that look. Perhaps.

The most wondrous thing about our relationship was that we knew that there were limits beyond which neither of us would ever go once the other said stop. My half-brother Campbell had once explained to me that that was the main reason he employed 'security men' like our friends Mr. Bell and Mr. Hope, for those clients who were incapable of understanding that even for a molly-man 'no' did in fact mean 'no', and not 'oh go on if you want'. John knew that he only had to give the word and I would release him from his tortures.

His eyes suddenly widened as there was a definitive click from down below. He stared at me in shock.

“Did I not mention?” I said innocently. “That particular cock-ring had three settings on it that enable a slight easing of pressure each time as it ratchets back, until full release is achieved on the fourth one.”

His sudden movement clearly jolted the dildo inside of him because there was a second click, and he moaned in desperation. Such a wonderful sound, especially when I looked inquiringly at him to see if he wanted out and he shook his head at me (we had arranged that even the slightest nod, regardless of any question on my part, would mean that I would end our little game. 

“There is pie tonight”, I pointed out. “Would you like to cut yourself a slice?”

That was very mean of me, as I knew leaning forward was beyond him just now. Especially when there was a third click from beneath the table which made him look even more panicked. 

“It is hot in here”, I said conversationally. “I think that I might take my shirt off.”

I got only as far as the third button before there a final click and a moan of mixed pleasure and pain from across the table. John looked both relieved and disappointed that his torture was over. Just as well really.

“You lasted an impressive fifty-seven minutes”, I said. “You should have your pie now.”

He nodded, a smile creasing his handsome features.

“And we can try to better your time later.”

He just smiled lopsidedly at me and reached for his pie. And if I got too engaged in my book and 'accidentally' left him to have my slice as well, he had earned it. 

He earned it even more later!

֍

Sergeant Baldur came round the next day. I had not been expecting good news from his endeavours, but I sensed very quickly that something was wrong. John had had to dash off to one of his surgery's richer clients who no doubt had a sore throat that was masquerading as the Black Death, so I was alone for once. And yes, I was missing him even though he would be back for luncheon.

“You were right sir”, he said heavily. “We found a body all right, matching the description you gave.”

I looked at him shrewdly.

“I do not expect officers of the law to be overjoyed at finding dead people”, I said, “but you do not look well. Is something the matter?”

“It is Alice sir”, he said. “She... it is not doing well.”

“You wife's pregnancy?” I asked. This was the couple's fifth pregnancy and the last four had been without problems as far as I knew. “Why did you not just ask John?”

“The new surgery, sir”, he said looking unusually miserable for him.

I knew what he meant. A new surgery had opened up not far from his house and was, most unhappily, being run by an unpleasant curse on the medical professions called Doctor William Kimmel. His bullying ways had caused several neighbouring surgeries to withdraw cover for areas that he now 'served', and I supposed that the sergeant's house was one of those affected. 

“Alice hates having him but Doctor Watson's surgery will not cover the area now”, the sergeant said glumly. “We are stuck with the rat.”

I thought for a moment then smiled.

“Maybe not”, I said. “I have an idea there.”

֍

John duly returned at lunchtime and after a suitably restrained welcome home – perhaps I should say unrestrained as I let him doff the cock-ring that he had been wearing all morning – we ate without me at all smirking that he first had to go to his room to apply some of our now frequently used cooling unguent.

I did not smirk _that_ much.

After lunch we took a cab first to the house of John's friend Sir Peter Greenwood. He was more than delighted to step in and take over the case of Sergeant Baldur's pregnant wife, and the social norms of the day meant that much as Doctor Kimmel would doubtless complain about it, his surgery would not make any fuss at being elbowed aside by a knight of the realm! 

Next it was off to Kent to see Mrs. Andrea Thompson, aunt of the unfortunate Mr. Burridge, but not before I had asked around the area about her.

“I did not realize someone could male themselves that unpopular”, John observed as we walked down the drive to 'Sennen House'. “And why did you keep asking everyone about whether the woman was ever out with her lawyer?”

“It seems odd that someone who very clearly enjoyed causing chaos and misery all around her would not wish to do it in person”, I said. 

“I wonder if she will receive us?” John asked.

“I very much doubt it.”

He looked at me in surprise.

“Then why are we visiting her?” he asked.

“Because we are going to catch a criminal”, I said.

“You think that the aunt is a criminal?” he asked dubiously. “At her age?”

“Criminals can develop at many ages, as our recent encounter with a Miss Arabella Buckley showed”, I pointed out. “But I can honestly say that Miss Andrea Thompson has not committed any crimes.”

He looked at me sharply. Once again he knew me too well and could see that I was not telling him something. And even my most innocent smile did not convince him otherwise.

֍

'Sennen House' was one of those properties which was moderate in size but possessed of copious grounds and John was clearly more than a little surprised when, instead of knocking at the door like a regular caller, I chose to force the lock. We were soon inside a hallway that, though bereft of life, was clearly scene to an imminent departure as several bags were piled up by the door. A lean middle-aged fellow emerged from a door to our right and I silently thanked the foresight that had made me advise John to have his gun ready for anything. Not that he needed telling these days.

“What are you doing in here, gentlemen?” the fellow said sniffily. “This is private property. I shall have you arrested.”

“I hardly think that the likes of _you_ , Mr. Tapper, would resort to summoning an officer of the law”, I said smoothly. “Fortunately several of them will be here very soon to escort you to a prison cell.”

“On what grounds might they do that?” he demanded, and I could see that he was weighing up his chances of escape. I shook my head warningly at him.

“I really would not....”

Unfortunately he did. The fellow threw his bag at John and made a dash for the door, but his aim was awry and John was able to shoot him in a leg stopping his flight before it had started. He screamed in agony as he fell to the floor.

“You had better treat him”, I said resignedly. “We do not wish to cheat the hangman.”

֍


	3. Chapter 3

“But I still do not understand”, Mr. Burridge said later as we sat taking coffee back in Baker Street. 

I sucked pleasurably on a lemon barley-sugar – _not_ my fourth as someone later claimed – and explained.

“I had a fair idea of what was afoot from your excellent records of what had happened”, I said. “Yesterday I dispatched my friend Sergeant Baldur to your aunt's former house in north London which, as I had expected, had not yet been sold on. And in the gardens out the back he found exactly what I had expected him to find.”

“What was that?” Mr. Burridge asked.

“Your aunt.”

He stared at me in horror. 

“But how?” he managed at last. “I mean, I spoke to her months back, after she moved here.”

“I am afraid that this all boils down to an unfortunate case of bad timing”, I said. “Mr. Tapper knew that as lawyer to your aunt he would be in a position to greatly enrich himself once Sir Peter Thompson had passed and the whole estate devolved to her. As with anyone expecting to have extra money he doubtless got himself into debt that he knew he could resolve easily enough once, as they say, his ship came in. And he was prepared to put up with a garrulous old client who insisted on telling him everything he never wanted to know about her extended family, up to and including the fact that her nephew Cain is fond of barley-sugar.”

“But without warning everything goes horribly wrong. We know that Sir Peter had a long illness before he died and that would have led Mr. Tapper to think that the money was almost his. Except that shortly before the last of the Thompson baronets met his Maker, Miss Andrea Thompson suddenly falls ill and predeceases her nephew. Disaster! The money will go elsewhere and Mr. Tapper will be ruined!”

“Except that he sees a very cunning way out of his self-inflicted difficulties. His client was a virtual recluse, shut off from the rest of her family by her unpleasant attitude and not the sort of person that any of them would be inclined to visit unless they absolutely had to. And he knows much of her family history, so he simply puts on some women's clothes and becomes his client.”

Mr. Burridge stared at me in horror.

“You mean that when I met my aunt she was... I mean he was.... ugh!”

“Ugh indeed”, I said. “Despite Mr. Dickens' excellent if often depressing writings, few ladies even of that age like to sit around in cobweb-infested darkened rooms waiting for their Maker, and it sounded very much like the person you were meeting did not want you to observe them too closely. His sole mistake however was that he did not listen closely enough. I am sure that your aunt did mention to him that it was _apple-_ flavoured barley sugar that you liked as a child but he did not take it in. The giving of the regular barley-sugar to you was meant to reinforce the idea that this was indeed the aunt you had – thankfully – not seen in years, but instead it did the opposite and compelled you to come to me.”

Mr. Burridge suddenly went pale.

“He did not....”

I shook my head.

“Remember that it was not in his interests for your aunt to depart this life of sorrows”, I said. “Indeed it was her death that which caused all his problems. There will of course have to be a _post mortem_ but fortunately I have certain friends in positions who can make sure it is all done with the minimum of fuss.”

“But what if he talks?” Mr. Burridge fretted. “I do not get out much socially but my brothers would be mortified! Poor Adam is a vicar so he will not hear the end of it from his parishioners.”

“Unfortunately that will be where we shall have to apply justice rather than the law”, I said. “If he is offered what will amount to a life sentence instead of the long drop he deserves, then he may keep quiet; we know that even prisons can somehow leak gossip. But it will be made clear to him that if the story of his impersonation does get out then the case will be re-opened with a view to a prosecution for the death penalty.”

“You have been very helpful”, Mr. Burridge said. “Thank you very much.”

We stood and shook hands then left, although I noticed John covertly giving our client an extra bag of flavoured barley-sugars which was really not needed. I had only eaten four of his.

All right, six.

Ish?

֍

_Postscriptum: Sadly Mr. Tapper did indeed have to have his silence purchased in the way that I had foretold, but he did not have long to revel in cheating the hangman. He caught a bout of winter flu in his first year in gaol and followed his former client to the great beyond. And since part of the price of his 'escape' had been that he assisted in straightening out the estate he had been defrauding, Mr. Cain Burridge and his fellow family members did indeed receive the best part of their inheritances._

_I was able to apply pressure in the right areas elsewhere, and Doctor Kimmel quitted London after a run of 'unfortunate' scandals, enabling John to resume his treatment of Sergeant Baldur's wife just in time for her fifth and latest addition to the police ranks._

֍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> † Early railway journeys were exciting for all sorts of reasons many of which might mean that your journey could be your last. Early locomotives were often not powerful enough to meet the demands placed on them, so their crews would simply screw down a convenient nut on the safety-valve which gave them more power. The downside was, inevitably, sometimes they guessed wrong and the boiler exploded! The fictional Sir James Thompson's valves did not allow this and (after rather too many journeys ended with a bang!) such valves rapidly became standard for all railways.


End file.
